Mother’s Restaurant
401 Poydras Street at the corner of Tchoupitoulas Street
New Orleans, LA 70130
Thursday, June 24, 2010
No place I’ve ever visited has New Orleans' knack for creating terrific eating experiences in such ordinary surroundings. The photos and memorabilia scattered around the entryway and the signs proclaiming the daily specials are familiar sights to the regulars and a nostalgic hint of yesteryear to a first time visitor like me.
Eateries like Johnny’s Po Boys, Liuzza’s, and Mother’s are the anti-franchises of the restaurant world, places that have a mojo all their own and know enough not to mess with it. There are scores of places like these three all over this city.
Part of the draw of a place like Mother’s Restaurant is its plain, unfussy interior. But there’s nothing ordinary about the place when there’s a line out the door and the action behind the serving counter is crackling with the same intensity as the bacon and sausage on the grill.
The veteran staff of women stands behind the chest high order counter as if it were a bunker between them and us, shouting orders, bantering, occasionally one or two of them exploding into a high pitched yelp of a laugh. It’s not all peace and love back there. There’s a pecking order we can’t see but can certainly feel.
“Somebody else gonna do that, not gonna be me,” a woman says to no one in particular when the going gets thick. The tempests blow over like one of the bursts of rain that will pour and stop within a matter of minutes later in the afternoon.
New Orleaneans are highly tuned into food. They find a place that serves good gumbo or po boys, or knows how to fry up a good dish of shrimp or oysters, or cook up a tasty etouffée, or pile meat and gravy into a sandwich that will require you to wipe yourself up from hands to elbows once you’ve finished, or any of ten ways to cook up eggs, grits and biscuits - they will keep coming to that place until it burns down, closes, or starts to coast on its reputation.
That lapse would be the most mortal of sins. The chefs and line cooks at places like Mother’s don’t know the meaning of the verb "coast".
Mother’s Restaurant on Poydras Street in the Central Business District hasn’t messed with its décor for decades. Except for updating the kitchen, the place is essentially the same as when Simon and Mary (Mother) Landry opened it in 1938. A short walk from offices in the Central Business District near Canal Street and the piers on the riverfront, Mother’s clientele in those early years ranged from longshoremen to attorneys.
Nothing essential changed after the Amato family bought it from the Landry family in 1986 . One of the distinguishing aspects of Mother’s is that the men who work in the kitchen and the women behind the order counter and in the kitchen have worked here for years. Many of the best places in town have staff that stay for the duration.
“Give food receipt to bus person. Your food will be brought to you at your table,” reads the sign at the beginning of the long order counter. Lucky me, I find a small table after I’ve paid for breakfast at the cash register that anchors the line. Five minutes later, a young lady arrives with a “Mae’s Omelet” filled with black ham, green onions, and mushrooms.
The taste of clove lingers in the bits of caramelized ham flecked in the omelet, the green onions release little pows of chivey onion when you chew them, and the mushrooms hold all the tastes together in a fluffy oblong of Louisiana breakfast with hot biscuits and a generous helping of smooth creamy grits with hint of butter. In ten minutes, my plate is empty and I've stored enough calories to last me well into the afternoon.
A large fairly generic dining room is around the corner, but I’ve found a table within a few feet of the order counter from which I can survey the action. The line is filled with local businessmen and women, tourists, carpenters, contractors of all ages and races. So New Orleans.
The places I frequent at home have predominantly white customers, whether for music or dining. Maybe that says something about me, maybe it’s about Boston, but the jambalaya mix of customers in New Orleans’s bars and restaurants is just business as usual.
At about 11:45 when I leave, about 50 people are in a line that snakes out the door. High tide at Mother's.
“Menu is on the right make a line near the wall and order when you get to the counter,” the man sitting at the tiny desk at the door repeats every minute or so.
401 Poydras Street at the corner of Tchoupitoulas Street
New Orleans, LA 70130
Thursday, June 24, 2010
No place I’ve ever visited has New Orleans' knack for creating terrific eating experiences in such ordinary surroundings. The photos and memorabilia scattered around the entryway and the signs proclaiming the daily specials are familiar sights to the regulars and a nostalgic hint of yesteryear to a first time visitor like me.
Eateries like Johnny’s Po Boys, Liuzza’s, and Mother’s are the anti-franchises of the restaurant world, places that have a mojo all their own and know enough not to mess with it. There are scores of places like these three all over this city.
The veteran staff of women stands behind the chest high order counter as if it were a bunker between them and us, shouting orders, bantering, occasionally one or two of them exploding into a high pitched yelp of a laugh. It’s not all peace and love back there. There’s a pecking order we can’t see but can certainly feel.
“Somebody else gonna do that, not gonna be me,” a woman says to no one in particular when the going gets thick. The tempests blow over like one of the bursts of rain that will pour and stop within a matter of minutes later in the afternoon.
That lapse would be the most mortal of sins. The chefs and line cooks at places like Mother’s don’t know the meaning of the verb "coast".
Mother’s Restaurant on Poydras Street in the Central Business District hasn’t messed with its décor for decades. Except for updating the kitchen, the place is essentially the same as when Simon and Mary (Mother) Landry opened it in 1938. A short walk from offices in the Central Business District near Canal Street and the piers on the riverfront, Mother’s clientele in those early years ranged from longshoremen to attorneys.
Nothing essential changed after the Amato family bought it from the Landry family in 1986 . One of the distinguishing aspects of Mother’s is that the men who work in the kitchen and the women behind the order counter and in the kitchen have worked here for years. Many of the best places in town have staff that stay for the duration.
The taste of clove lingers in the bits of caramelized ham flecked in the omelet, the green onions release little pows of chivey onion when you chew them, and the mushrooms hold all the tastes together in a fluffy oblong of Louisiana breakfast with hot biscuits and a generous helping of smooth creamy grits with hint of butter. In ten minutes, my plate is empty and I've stored enough calories to last me well into the afternoon.
The places I frequent at home have predominantly white customers, whether for music or dining. Maybe that says something about me, maybe it’s about Boston, but the jambalaya mix of customers in New Orleans’s bars and restaurants is just business as usual.
At about 11:45 when I leave, about 50 people are in a line that snakes out the door. High tide at Mother's.
“Menu is on the right make a line near the wall and order when you get to the counter,” the man sitting at the tiny desk at the door repeats every minute or so.
“It’s like this everyday,” he says to me as I leave.
No wonder.
Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.
Excellent! { :
Posted by: Rebecca W | July 08, 2010 at 09:37 PM
Wonderful writing
I'm sharing with a lot of friends
Cheers
Posted by: Bernard | July 09, 2010 at 11:54 PM
Why thank you, Bernard! I especially pleased that you're passing them around. If any recipients like the contents, tell 'em it's ok to weigh in on anything/place I write about. Hope to see you in Louisiana again soon.
Posted by: pt | July 11, 2010 at 07:38 PM
It's a long way from here, but I'm sure enjoying New Orleans through your eyes and words!
Posted by: Sarah Cross Mills | July 11, 2010 at 07:56 PM